


Passion of a Moth

by Butter_Snake



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: Blood Kink, Body Shots, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, F/M, Fear of Abandonment, Sadomasochism, Vaginal Sex, like what else can I say..., scar kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 23:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butter_Snake/pseuds/Butter_Snake
Summary: The sweetest feeling of shattering apart like glass, into smithereens so small that they could hold neither thoughts nor memories. He could just be as if… He had ceased to be -- if that makes sense at all.
Relationships: Lawrence Barrett/Yelena Fedorova
Kudos: 5





	Passion of a Moth

_-*-_-*-_-*-_

He leaned back on the tiled floor, propped up on his elbows; looking down as rivulets of liquor trickled along his wounds, half-circling the reddened edge, soaking between frayed dermal armor.

She set the emptied glass beside them -- leaned in to suckle at the open cuts, tracing the inner musculature with her tongue as if tracing his lips in a kiss. She tilted her head to catch a stray drop of alcohol along his abs, with eyes narrowed, tipsy from the drink.

He saw the raven plumes brushing down her cheek; reached out and smoothed them back behind her ear. 

She closed her eyes and hummed -- soft tingles against his wounds, dancing along the throbbing pain that mimics the rhythm of his heart. Then she pulled back a little, tilted her head back -- bit down her lip and traced it with her tongue, taking in all lingering taste of her delicacy. When she opened her eyes and looked up he held her gaze -- her eyes unadorned with the usual shades, lashes short and finespun -- and she smiled, fond and indulgent, as if looking over a beloved toy. 

He looked over himself too: minuscule twitches along his chest and stomach, thin trails of red running along the contour of scars and sinews. And the injuries themselves -- the way they were knitting together in slow motion, assuring her that he could yet take a lot more. 

She brushed a finger over his chest, where the machine bites into flesh. Teasing the scars with her fingertip, she began to draw in a shorthand.

“ _Do you know how gorgeous you are -- Lawrence? So strong, capable of suffering so much.”_

She leaned down to kiss the knot between his clavicles -- silvery pale metal, in a bed of woven carbon fiber and raised scars. Her breath came hot and fast.

All things around him were merely a soft gradient of colors now, no lines that strangled, no angles that pierced. Nothing could hurt him, other than her -- to whom he surrendered out of his own will.

“Come on.” He urged softly, lying down on the ground, cupping her hips with his hands as she straddled him. 

Pressing against his skin was the slick moisture between her thighs, coating over the textured metal. As she began to grind against his hip in an unhurried pace, the slickness and warmth came even more. 

With her free hand she was pressing his hardened cock against her lower stomach, where the carbon fiber smoothens and fades into her skin tone. Calloused fingers dragging over each swollen vein, caressing along his shaft and kneading the base of his cock.

He choked back a cry, no longer able to stop himself from thrusting up, even as each motion pulled at his wounds and tore him apart -- the sweetest feeling of shattering apart like glass, into smithereens so small that they could hold neither thoughts nor memories. Neither the broken young man nor the monstrosity; neither the machine so innocent and pliant, nor the human soul who animates it -- metal and flesh indistinguishable. He could just be as if… He had ceased to be -- if that makes sense at all.

She cupped his jaw, humming in approval as she saw the helpless look on his face, before pressing her mouth against his -- sending onto his lips the tang of his own blood, wrapped in the sharp burn of liquor.

Grey dots were flocking into his vision, growing bold with the shudder that ran down his spine.

She nuzzled along the scars on his face, kissing the side of his forehead, hooding his eyes with a hand. And so he obeyed -- closed his eyes.

Within the same second she sank her fingertips into his wounds, piercing through the newly-woven flesh, nails curling around blood clots and severed vessels.

And drawing out to brush away the tears on his cheek, leaving bloody prints down his face instead.

But he still kept her command, kept his eyes shut. A warm, tingling pressure played through all his veins as blood rushed up in a swell. He knew what he would see if he were to open his eyes -- this little landscape of blood, rivers of blood -- an environ of a world so unreal, into which nothing could pursue him -- this is where he thrives.

Heat coursed through his body as beads of pre rolled down his slit, caught between where his shaft pressed against her skin. She spread them down, stroking along his full length. 

And guided him in, so slickened from tasting his pain that she hilted him with ease, moaning as the pressure reached deep inside of her. 

And it was steel against skin -- ungiving and conquering. Her pace was wild and punishing, branding her prey with livid-red bruises that deepened across his hip.

_-*-_-*-_-*-_

Eventually the world came to him again -- caught up to him. Tryingly crept up the edge of his vision, probed the tip of his fingers -- circling him in appraisal -- closed in and swallowed him up.

Now purged from the pain that was his haven, he felt lonely -- an odd twinge that rose and rose in his heart as pain receded from the rest of his body. Final strands of red escaping his healing wounds, unraveling in the warm water that embraced him. 

She was still here, her legs between his own, her back pressing against his chest -- pressing down a panicking heart.

He watched with some amusement as she held her legs together, leaning them to one side -- then another, so her knees could _alternately_ get under water.

“Here -- ” He offered, ladling water over her knees with a hand -- half of the water running off through his joints. So now it was her who looked back at him with amusement.

Warm water streaming over, winding down the inlay parting synthetic muscles. She hummed, flexing her knees lazily, her feet knocking at the far side of the tub.

“ _But isn’t there a better use for your hands._ ”

Her own svelte fingers interweaving with his, guiding them to tease over her breast, down her sides and farther below; leading his finger inside of her.

Between his arms she was but a vague form -- incorporeal due to a lack of sensors -- almost as if she could drift away. 

But of course she knew him -- how she reached for his face and touched their heads together, how she grinded back against his already-bruised hip. 

Wasn’t she still here.

_-*-_-*-_-*-_

And it was a cold morning that he woke to, all things bloodlessly grey -- the wallpaper of the safehouse, the mist clinging to window glass -- leafless tips of trees, pigeons huddling on a utility line. 

And it was how unusual -- she was still asleep beside him. Most of the time her rest is lighter than a feather. 

He lifted his arm away from her shoulder, and cold air caressed where warm metal had been. Before gooseflesh could have formed he pulled up the cover for her. 

What if he just got up and walked away like this -- some part of him wondered -- out of her life -- wouldn’t she have slept through it.

And despite his best effort to obliterate himself, here he was. Not gores across the floor and tiny bits of metal. Still an integral being… Still a separate being.

But when he surfaced from his thoughts and glanced back at her, she was peering at him through a half-lidded eye -- the corner of her mouth tilting into a smile.


End file.
